


chances are we might be stars

by reachthetree



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Paint, M/M, Sexual Content, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:58:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reachthetree/pseuds/reachthetree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art." -Oscar Wilde</p>
            </blockquote>





	chances are we might be stars

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the quote seen above, and oscar's spirit in general. cheers oscar. title from might be stars by the wannadies.

The paint is cool against Louis’ back, but there’s warmth in Zayn's endlessly soft brush strokes. Louis' spine becomes a tree, his shoulderblades sprout leaves, and there are roots tickling his buttocks. The pain in Louis’ lower stomach tells him that he’s still human and needs to urinate; Louis doesn’t listen.

Zayn takes pictures while Louis dries. “I’m going to print these out,” he says, and there’s another click before he speaks again. “And save them in digital form.” Click. “On at least two separate devices.”

“I’m going to live forever,” Louis mumbles to the floor, where he lies resting his head on his arm.

“Forever,” Zayn confirms, and his voice is closer now. Louis turns his head and sees Zayn sitting next to him on the floor.

“Am I beautiful?” Louis asks.

Zayn could have showed him pictures, let Louis validate himself. “Yeah,” he says instead. “You’re a work of art.”

The floor is cold against Louis’ naked body. That doesn’t matter. Louis smiles. “All I ever wanted,” he says. His voice is shaking and so is his body.

“You’re starting to dry,” Zayn says, but Louis already knows. He can feel the drying paint cling harder to his skin. 

Zayn lights a cigarette and puts the camera down next to him. “Give me a drag?” Louis asks, and Zayn responds by putting the cigarette in front of Louis’ chapped lips.

When he inhales, Louis can feel the paint on his back cracking. He closes his eyes and holds the smoke as long as he can. Just a few more moments of being unbroken art, he pleads to Apollo, but it’s too late. He sighs, lets the smoke sneak out of his body.

“You can move now, if you want,” Zayn says, and takes his cigarette back.

Louis sits up and feels the paint crack even more. It only takes a second to ruin a work of art that took hours, days, months, years, to complete.

So much for being beautiful.

Little chips of paint fall to the bathroom floor as Louis stands there, relieving himself. When he walks out, still naked, Zayn is palming himself through his jeans, cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth.

Without a word Louis kneels down next to him, and with a nod from Zayn as permission, unzips him and gets his cock out of his pants and into Louis’ mouth. This is my art, too, Louis thinks and opens wider. 

Pleasure is beautiful because it is fleeting.

Somewhere between the second and third gasp Zayn drops his cigarette. Neither of them notice the flames or the smoke, for their eyes are closed to heighten other senses. But they can’t fail to notice the smell of burning plastic.

The camera is a deformed clump of black, flames and smoke rising from it.

Zayn jumps up, runs to find the fire extinguisher. Louis can only stare at the melting plastic and blink away tears.

There’s powder everywhere. The fire is put out and Zayn’s clothes and Louis’ skin are dusted with white powder.

So much for living forever.

Louis takes Zayn’s hand and lets himself be lifted from the floor. He holds on to Zayn’s hand as he leads them into the shower, watches Zayn undress, doesn’t move from the spray of water to wait for it to get warm.

He watches paint slurp down the drain. The water is green and blue and brown for a few moments before it washes away.

When eventually the water is clear, Louis drops to his knees again.

Pleasure is beautiful because it is fleeting.


End file.
